There’s a hen staring forlornly out the coop door, waiting to be set free for the day. Or perhaps fed (extra). Or perhaps she is gazing upon the amazing amount of mulberry leaves that dropped in the yard overnight. What fun they might be to scratch in, discovering all manner of bugs underneath! Especially if the humans have raked them up for compost. Human effort thwarted is a fine and savory spice.
She could be contemplating the simple yet symbiotic nature of her life as a kept hen: eat, poop, eat, lay egg, eat, sleep. More poop. Or even her place in the cosmic order of things, which as a later of eggs and provider of compost must surely be grand.
Nah, she’s probably fantasizing about one of us tripping in the coop and wondering if we are as tasty we seem.